The water-logged, barnacle-covered, off-center piece of driftwood careened off the lathe (at 1200 rpm), glancing off my head, taking parts of my face and brain on its way into the far wall. I remember thinking, "Good, that was a part of my brain I wasn't using." Then I looked at the clock on my dresser next to the bed, 3:09 a.m. Whew! A nightmare! (I should have realized that immediately - only an idiot, even in his dreams, would mount something on a lathe that was water-logged.)

I'd had 'lathe on the brain' lately. I just finished a weekend craft show, had a two day midweek show coming up, then I'd be out of town for a week. I was using whatever spare time I could to increase my inventory.

Several years ago I'd never have dreamed being busy with an income-producing craft/art hobby. That was when I was adding 'lathe' to the end of my Christmas list (our family traditionally makes lists for each other - it saves the aggravation of shopping that many men of the male/guy/masculine persuasion suffer). One year I wasn't predisposed towards making such a list. So, I just put down 'lathe'. Of all things, my wife bought me one! At the time I viewed it as a 'fun' machine, on which to make some whimsical things. Had I known my future involvement with this fascinating tool, I'd have bought myself one years earlier.

For the under-initiated, a lathe is an instrument to which you can attach a piece of wood and give it a whirl. Belt driven by a motor, it causes the wood to spin wildly. In fact, that's part of the initiation process. In short order, one learns to appreciate rapid spinning, much more than wild spinning. By applying a sharp tool to the wood, while it is rapidly spinning, usually anywhere from a couple hundred rpm to 3-4,000 rpm, the wood can be shaped into myriad designs.

BEGININGS

I started out turning sticks. Into smaller sticks. Then I went for size, turning a door stop out of a medium size locust branch, 3 ý inches in diameter, and 16 inches tall. The door stop is still as functional today as the day I turned it, and well denotes the progression of quality that has taken place since. As I practiced my craft, I showed the finished pieces to my wife, and received the obligatory "Ooohh, that's nice", "Mm-hmmm", and "Yeah", it occurred to me that I would need to do something with this stuff. In spite of its usefulness, appearance, or any other criteria for adding it to my holdings, it was taking up space. And some of that was my space. I definitely had to do something.

It was then that I discovered art and craft shows. These are the epitome of the

free enterprise system. They allow folks to display anything from cheap mass-produced trinkets to gallery-quality collectibles, in the hopes of selling them to other folks. I attended a show at a local high school for $25. This entry/booth rental fee, which can range to over $1,000, usually (but not always) defines the quality of the merchandise. I took my entire inventory, and spread it out on a table, spacing it carefully, to give it a 'busier' appearance. And I made $32.50! Well, actually, I made $7.50. Okay, if you apply generally accepted accounting principles, figure labor, mileage, supplies, overhead, tools, pro-rated cost of benefits, and all those other things that they could just shut up about, it only cost me $150 for the day. But it did prove to me that, if nothing more, this hobby might pay for itself - if I could improve my product.

FINISHINGS

In my infantile wood-turning stage, I was pleased to wind up with something that was round, and still in one piece. If it's general appearance matched what I intended it to be, that was a pleasing bonus. (Occasionally I had to change my intentions mid-stream.) Later, I thought I was finished with a piece when I sanded it smooth with a piece of 220 grit sandpaper that had been lying around for a decade or so. When that ran out, local hardware stores supplied 'fine' sandpaper. But further delving into the subject of smooth yielded 600, 800, 1000 and even 1200 grit sandpaper. I now have 'micro-mesh', which starts at 1500 grit and works its way up to 12,000, which is not quite as rough as that scourge called facial tissues. We're talking smoooooooooth, now.

And there are many different techniques for sanding turned objects. My goal is to show the beauty of the wood. Any time you sand wood, you're likely going to have multiple sanding marks, those tiny little scratches that, left in place, denote amateurism. The secret is to use gradually finer grit sandpaper, so as to remove those ugly scars. But, even this isn't fully effective, if you sand in the same manner while the wood is turning in the same direction. So, a reversing motor comes in handy. So does hand sanding, while the lathe is turned off, moving the sandpaper back and forth on the piece. Then, when the lathe is turned on, the next finer grit smoothes out the horizontal (axis-to-axis) marks, while the piece is rotating. Steel wool (size 0000) is a fine supplement to sanding paraphernalia, and is quite useful, particularly when the only remaining option is the use of 'elbow grease'. The bane of sanding perfection is that pernicious end grain. Trying to make a mirror surface on all those tiny stubs that have to end somewhere (on the surface of that finely turned piece) is a challenge. But it is achieved exactly the same way as you get to Carnegie Hall (practice, practice, practice).

One would think that, whatever sanding marks might remain after one tires of interminable sanding, would be made invisible by applying a finish. Experience, being the fine teacher that it is, proves otherwise. Those perfectly symmetrical scratches are exposed, even high-lighted by the finish. So, of course, you must now sand off the finish, and begin again. This is the origin of the term 'start from scratch'.

Eventually, sharp tools and practiced sanding techniques yields a suitable end result. Now, what finish do I apply? I like to mix my own French polish. There are dozens of recipes. The one I currently use is 1/3 boiled linseed oil, 1/3 white shellac, and 1/3 turpentine. These ingredients do not naturally blend with each other. I combine them in a squirt bottle, then, while the lathe is spinning, vigorously shake the contents, squirt some on a soft cloth and apply it to the piece. The turpentine coats the piece, the oil fills the pores, and the shellac hardens the mixture, so that the surface is smooth, dry, and finished, all at once. I find this a handy, and quick, method to give a nice appearance to most smaller items. There are countless brand name finishes that can be applied by brush, spray, dipping, or wiping. Most give specific instructions, which most people ignore, right up to the question, "What went wrong?" It is invaluable to talk with an experienced user of a product before buying it, much less using it. One such conversation convinced me to try Antique Oil. It is applied with a lint-free cloth, then left to dry. It fills in all pores, and dries hard. Invariably, some 'globs' set up. These must be carefully scraped smooth by a sharp knife's edge. Then the 0000 steel wool is used to even out any surface irregularities. Then, this process is executed twice more. This may take a three day period, or perhaps a week. After the Antique Oil has done its job, Paste Wax is applied, using a small cloth, to the entire piece. It's ideal to do this about three times, over as many days. After applying each coat, the piece is buffed with a soft cloth. By now, the piece has a high luster, a glass-smooth surface, and will stand up to most elements, including children with cotton-candy-covered fingers. It is ready for public display.